8 of Water – Letting Go.

Eight of Water: Letting Go

In this image of lotus leaves in the early morning, we can see in the rippling of the water that one drop has just fallen. It is a precious moment, and one that is full of poignancy. In surrendering to gravity and slipping off the leaf, the drop loses its previous identity and joins the vastness of the water below. We can imagine that it must have trembled before it fell, just on the edge between the known and the unknowable. To choose this card is a recognition that something is finished, something is completing. Whatever it is-

-a job, a relationship, a home you have loved, anything that might have helped you to define who you are–it is time to let go of it, allowing any sadness but not trying to hold on. Something greater is awaiting you, new dimensions are there to be discovered. You are past the point of no return now, and gravity is doing its work. Go with it–it represents liberation.

Osho’s Teachings

In existence there is nobody who is superior and nobody who is inferior. The blade of grass and the great star are absolutely equal. But man wants to be higher than

others, he wants to conquer nature, hence he has to fight continuously. All complexity arises out of this fight. The innocent person is one who has renounced fighting; who is no longer interested in being higher, who is no longer interested in performing, in proving that he is someone special; who has become like a rose flower or like a dewdrop on the lotus leaf; who has become part of this infinity; who has melted, merged and become one with the ocean and is just a wave; who has no idea of the “I”. The disappearance of the ”I” is innocence.

Osho The White Lotus Chapter 6


A coat of quotes and passing poetry


There is an inertia to love, there syllables slip and meaning flits. Where the heights of one exist in the depths of the other. Like some parts of one have to see the eyes of the other. the fool and love

Sheer want of affection cannot scratch that surface. Just as token existence outside of posterity cannot derive outside of its tether. So when do ideas and form meld, just as eternity catches up the ages to contemplation’s slight tilt of the head. The inner fire always deigns to speak, when the wind comes calling. 

What in event bears the signature of the universe, rearing to get your attention? The motif to outshine the conscious motive. 

But a state of inertia is no fit place for a discourse. So this course turns, like a tightened corset tug, kneading the reins to re-enter the boundless night. 

Proof of love is in the other. It calls for no other ensign. 

But for a lover, that is never enough. And identity toils, and form reappears to make its foil. Syllables catch their caches of words and attributes identify their adjectifying constitutes. Grammar makes itself out to call time.

The tertiary makes inertia. And its measure not without its trial. Attestation to bridge the subjective, and requite to meet its respite. 

Parables compete with aphorisms and silence extends to after thought.

Laughter is sought, giggles a universal type-set to calm home, the feeling hones to recognise its marker, like a horse with no name, sure-footed yet to a mystic muse. Until enthuse articulates enough felt to call the same. 

Travails of consciousness shadow ancient histories like a mystery in aim. 

Like every other, hears a pond of empathetic acclaim. Despite and unlike any. 

Consciousness, love and the Fool.


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